“Me too.”
He wanted to kiss her so badly that gravity seemed to be pulling him toward her. Instead he looked out the window and said, “I’ve got people waiting for me.”
She tried and failed at sounding nonchalant. “See you later.” He touched her cheek and turned to walk away. She said, “Stewart?” He stopped and looked back. “Be careful.” He smiled and nodded and continued walking. Sanders and Mr. Kile stood at the gangway waiting patiently for him. Sanders offered him an M4 and he wore it like a cowboy settling into a saddle.
Niles took the Sentinel goggles off his head and handed them back to Beckman while shaking off the sensation of being immersed in the machine’s 3D world. “Too bad about the sound.”
When it had been spotted the night before, Beckman and Collins had pulled the Sentinel into the crane’s cab with its darkened windows to protect the operator. With no heat signature when in idle, the Sentinel was well hidden from the Northerner’s night vision gear, but its ability to collect sound was cut off. Niles looked at Thompson. “So, a fuel problem then?”
“We think so.”
Beckman put the goggles back on and said, “I have observed black sludge being pumped out of the bilge.”
Thompson glanced at the surroundings. “Highly doubtful, viable fuel around here.” The Shoremen had taken up a post on the roof of the California State University across the river’s mouth and the docked Delfshaven. The school building looked down on a smaller inlet with several ferry docks scattered about; one of them holding the stealthy shape of a U.S. Navy DDG 1000 class destroyer. Despite a patina of harsh weather, the space around the destroyer seemed peaceful, untouched, with none of the panic driven wreckage that defined the waterfront everywhere else. Collins commented more to himself than to anyone else, “Controlled this area until the end, the Navy. Something went worse than wrong to leave that.”
“That?” asked Plimpton.
Collins nodded at the destroyer. “Just a very fancy boat.”
Thompson smiled. “Come a long way we have, Councilman.”
“Yes, Major. What about the fancy boat, Collins?”
Thompson cut Collins off, continuing with his thought, “Nice it would be to have it pay off. The trip I mean” He nodded toward the Delfshaven. “Nice it would be to have those turbines for The Shore. Return triumphantly with those and a tale of what has become of America.”
Plimpton mulled it for a moment. “Killing the Northerners shouldn’t be too difficult, but Mister Beckman indicates that the turbine ship is stranded.”
“Collins is right. It’s a very fancy boat.” Thompson waved for the vicar to join them. The big man had been quietly offering morning prayers with his deacons and all three joined the major and the councilman. “How can we be of service, Major?”
“Well, your eminence, according to Mister Collins, that Navy boat down there has four LNG/Diesel powered turbine engines to help make her move.”
“Does it?” Inquired Wentworth with genuine curiosity, even if he didn’t have clue why he was being told this.
Thompson touched the Vicar’s elbow, directing the man to look harder while keeping him well back in the tree line overshadowing the roof where the defoliated branches still gave them cover. “Natural Gas doesn’t suffer from the same kinds of trouble that traditional liquid fuels do, but without the ability to store long term, it has likely cooked off. I would dearly like it if you were to speak with the Lord and ask his favor. In the end, it is my fondest wish that the men who ran that ship loaded her with diesel and that it remains uncorrupted as a good Navy ship’s fuel should.”
Wentworth looked at his deacons and looked back at Thompson “Gladly we will help if we can.”
Plimpton watched with amusement as Thompson continued, “Please pray, if you will, sirs, that the fuel in that vessel is still plentiful so that we may use it to obtain what appears to be a shipload of power generating wind turbines. Please pray that our Sentinel possesses the power to kill the Northerners quickly.” The minister raised an eyebrow at that, then turned to try to see the ship full of wind turbines. Thompson said, “You can’t see it Vicar or they might spot us and their devil companions grab our minds. Beckman, lend the vicar the goggles.”
It was still on the dark side of 04:00. Dean lay awake in the Captain’s bunk alone. He and the others had spent the entire previous day fruitlessly scouring every possibility for fuel. Having once again ended the day empty handed, it was beginning to look hopeless and general morale was falling rapidly. Like a broken record skipping over the same words, he tossed and turned, considering various lame pep talks while staring at the pitch-black ceiling. While he had been gone, Eliza had moved her meager gear out of the room. As he vaguely pondered the electric pops and squiggles that his eyes used to fill in the emptiness above him, a second broken record of thoughts reminded him over and over of his empty bed. How quickly he had gotten used to her warm body next to his – how annoying were these feelings of regret? He was mildly startled by a knock. Fully clothed, but for his boots, he stood and went to the door with his heart full of hope that she had changed her mind. He opened it to Sergeant Green looking very awake. “Grab your helmet. Hernandez needs you topside pronto.”
“What’s up?” asked Dean as he threw on his boots and coat. As he grabbed his helmet, he noted that Green hadn’t formally addressed him.
“Engine. Not ours.”
Dean felt adrenaline shoot into his muscles and he double-timed it behind Green. As they emerged onto the deck, he expected to hear an engine, but was greeted instead by silence. He stepped over to Hernandez, helmet on, staring hard to south. “What’s up Chief?”
“Dial up the mics on your helmet and focus in the direction I’m pointing.” He did so and could distinctly hear the echo of a muffled power plant bouncing among the countless boats that were either at anchor, dashed on the shore or sunken in the harbor. Where it was coming from exactly was impossible to tell. Hernandez asked, “Hear it?”
“Yes.”
“Noticed it maybe ten minutes ago. Seems to be getting closer. Damn quiet.”
Dean found his memories swirling back to another life, an amphibious landing at Mehran Naval Airbase, the battle to secure nukes - grave injuries, friends lost. Then safely back on the USS John Paul Jones, the gentle thrumming of those engines – lots of time in the fog of painkillers contemplating a new life after what would likely be an honorable discharge. “Sir?” asked Hernandez again.
Dean turned to Green. “Wake Mister Sanders. All hands battle stations.”
Hernandez lifted her mask, and looked at him with a questioning eye.
He said, “Could be good news or bad. That is the sound of a U.S. Navy destroyer. It runs very quietly.”
With the whole team armed, in place and listening, it wasn’t until the sky lightened enough to announce the break of dawn that anything changed. Perhaps a mile away a battleship gray destroyer came into partial view. Its downward sloped tumblehome bow broke past an anchored tanker ship just enough to expose a single 155mm gun on the foredeck. The low rumble disappeared as the engine came to a stop. There was a long pause and then the turret gun quickly turned toward them and fired.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Standoff
They saw the smoke from the gun and heard the shot fly overhead before they heard the booming report of the gun itself. Everyone instinctively ducked, which was especially fortunate for Bishop and Cinders as several smaller rounds coming from behind just missed their heads, exploding into the deck. The shaken and confused crew whipped their heads back and forth between the destroyer and a spider drone on the crane, its Acheson shotgun strafing the deck. On the distant shore, the first round from the gun hit a warehouse causing a loud explosion. There was a brief moment of silence, then a hollow but very human voice came from the drone. “Good morning. Five minutes you have to gather your things and leave the ship. Mark.” A loud beeping began to emanate from the ma
chine in one-second increments.
Dean looked at Eliza who had the twins standing around her in surprisingly aggressive protective positions. Hansel hissed through angry teeth and stared at the Sentinel. Dean asked him, “Can you get a read on it? Or them? Wherever they are?”
Gretel said, “They hide in their machines.”
The beeping from the drone became louder and the voice said, “Four and a half minutes.”
Dean looked at his spread out crew, armed yet toothless. They returned his gaze, obediently waiting for orders. A small sense of pride in them shot through him, that even in this sudden situation, discipline won the moment. He could see he had the faith of the soldiers too. He let the seconds pass and the machine-based voice said, “Four Minutes.” Dean smiled, straightened his posture and finally said, “It’s a bluff. They want the wind turbines. Everyone take up positions around the most vulnerable parts. Maggie Tender, get nice and close to that big blade. You too, Alice. Everybody, surround the wind turbine parts.” The crew shuffled quickly using the huge strapped down elements as cover. When the maneuver was complete, Dean stood partially hidden by a tower section and smiled widely toward the drone. “Your move.”
Plimpton was stunned by the rapid turn of the events. In less than twenty-four hours they had commandeered, started up, and maneuvered all night, a ship that none of them really had any business trying to operate. With ten men (including three clergy) and mostly naval computer geek Collins, they had managed to drive a six hundred foot warship (which to be fully operational had a crew of one hundred and forty) through a maze of abandoned and sunken vessels to position themselves perfectly as a threat without being threatened in return. No one had slept. All were pumped up with their anticipated coup. Yet, in mere moments the tables had turned, their bluff called. They all knew they couldn’t shoot their way to success and gain the prize.
“Damn!” swore Thompson. They had patched the Sentinel’s cameras to a video console in the USS Lyndon Johnson’s command center and they all watched the Northerners snuggle up to the disassembled wind turbines.
Gallagher dejectedly noted, “They are, after all, the same people who successfully fought off the Eagle and destroyed one of our Sentinels.”
Hanson was still rubbing engine grease off his fingers. He had worked hard. For the first time in a long time, his purpose had been directed toward something greater than taking care of his arrogant bastard of a murdering boss. The raping... he got (his boss had exquisite taste), but the murdering and then this banishment... Now he was nearly apoplectic with rage over the loss of what seemed like a perfect checkmate. They had used the Sentinel’s plutonium driven motor to turn over one of the ship’s four turbines. He had gotten his hands quite dirty helping to make sure the other three were well lubricated before bringing them online as well. He nodded at the screens and blurted, “Can’t have them, then sink them, say I.”
Plimpton glanced at the man with annoyance for speaking out of turn, but instinctively agreed. “A round at their waterline would do it.”
“I have a better idea,” said Thompson. He opened his arms to encompass the space. “This weapon is completely maneuverable from this room. The devils can’t see us. I say stop operating under such an abundance of caution.”
“And?” asked Plimpton.
Dean swore under his breath as the destroyer fully revealed itself and slowly came toward them. He had no idea how many adversaries they had. A well mounted human assault, mixed with the spider drone on the crane could easily overcome them, leaving the turbines mostly intact. Their small weapons offered nothing of the firepower needed to fend off that ship. They had one advantage – the twins. He called out, “Hansel. Do you and your sister have anything?”
Hansel and Gretel both looked hard at the ship. Hansel finally said, “We cannot see anyone. Perhaps a foggy presence.”
“Hansel is not being truthful. We feel no presence.”
Hansel scowled at his sister and she smiled with satisfaction in return. Eliza quietly said, “Thank you, Gretel. We appreciate it when you two are honest with us.”
Dean called out to everyone and spoke as loudly as he could to be certain that the spider drone picked up his words as well. “Prepare to repel boarders. They can only meet the height of this ship by bringing their deckhouse alongside us. Green, KK, be ready to put a round or two into anyone that steps outside, but let the pucks try their craft first. Hansel and Gretel, you know what to do.”
The Lyndon Johnson came within two hundred yards and turned in a less than graceful fashion to bring herself alongside the Delfshaven. With bow thrusters foaming the sea around it, the big ship came to an awkward stop, her stern pointed slightly at the cargo ship. Plimpton’s voice came from the Sentinel. “You can’t remain in your positions and serve any other function. We can wait you out and slowly pick you off. However, there is an alternative. You impress us as useful. Rather, we have a mutually beneficial proposition.”
“Who the hell are you?” barked out Dean.
“We are of The Shore.”
“Okay. What does that mean?”
“We are members of the sovereign nation of The Shore. You have twice entered our sphere of influence. We have been tracking you.”
“No kidding, if by a herd of elephants you mean tracking.”
There was a long pause, then, “We want the bulk of those wind turbines. In exchange for you steering and maintaining that vessel, we will tow you back to the East. Determined, we have, that the Nicaraguan Canal, if passable is the shortest route. Barring that, the Horn.”
Dean looked at Sanders and kept his voice low, “How the hell did they get their hands on a working destroyer while we have been hunting for nonexistent diesel fuel?”
“Lucky herd of elephants.”
Dean looked at Wen and Hernandez. “What do you two think?”
Wen said, “I think they have us over a fucking barrel. Pardon my French.”
Hernandez whispered, “I say we take them up on it and when we can, take that fucking ship.”
“I imagine they have the same plans for us.”
Hernandez said, “Too bad for them.”
Dean looked around at the faces that he had experienced so much with over the years. He looked at the pucks who still stood guard around Eliza, and felt their consciousness at the edge of his own. He made eye contact and mentally invited them in. Instant disorientation caused him to sit as they shared a mental conference call, and he waved away Sanders concerned hand. Eliza was there, had been there, reassuring them with a sort of motherly love even as they stood to protect her. A rush of emotional pain caused his throat to swell as he tasted the loss of the lust/love driven cocktail they had been taking. Then she was gone and she looked away as though suddenly ill. He took a moment to clear his head, swallow the bitter discomfort and crush, until he could focus. He swallowed again and asked the children, What sense do you have of the crew? Are they for this? Nearly as one they replied, They are as unsure as yourself, Stewart Dean. They trust you, even the soldiers. He nodded and said, Thank you. Now get out of my head. They instantly obeyed. He stood and called out to the drone. “We will take your offer. Any attempt to board this ship, however, will be met with grave consequences. Zero tolerance. We will work out the details of the eventual transfer after we are underway and clear of the harbor. At that point and at that point only, you may send one representative to have that discussion.”
There was a long pause and Thompson’s voice came out of the drone. “We will raft up to your bow and tie off up close.”
Dean looked at Sanders and Palmer who both gave him a yeah right skeptical look. He smiled at them and called out. “That won’t work in any kind of sea. We will maintain a proper no man’s land between the two boats of roughly fifty yards to avoid any collision. Put your stern to our bow and we will toss out two towlines.”
In the control room of the Lyndon Johnson, Thompson and his drone operators looked at
a zoomed in view of Dean. They had considered just shooting him. They all felt that they had the shot, but then there would be the trust issue with the rest of the Northerners. Beckman said, “We have this destroyer. Bring it home and we are all heroes anyway. Fire a round into their waterline we should. Sink the bastards and be done with it.”
Plimpton said, “It’s the wind turbines I want. The turbines make our mission perfect. There will be other opportunities to deal with them.”
On the Delfshaven, Dean continued to wait for an answer while keeping enough of his people close to the turbines. Thompson spoke through the drone. “Very well. When the lines are secure we will move out.”
Dean chuckled. “I’m afraid it will be a lot more complicated than that. We have no power with which to steer this ship. Without the ability to steer, we will sideslip and crash into any assortment of obstacles out there. We need to rig a manual tiller. For that, we will need a welding rig and access to some boxed steel among other things. The steel I have seen in a warehouse on the dock. The welding rig should be somewhere on your boat.”
It was Timbs whom the Shoremen chose to send to deliver the welding kit. He launched from a small tender that came from the stern of the Lyndon Johnson and was met on the dock by a very well armed Ensign Palmer and Mr. Kile. The Northerners helped lift the heavy gear off the boat, and after an uncomfortable pause without communication from either party, Timbs moved to head back to the destroyer.
Palmer said, “Hold up just a moment, friend.”
Timbs paused and smiled. “Yes?”
“Mind tellin’ us who you folks are? You’ve been following us from Texas at least? Do you know that the country has survived? That the U.S. still exists in what is still New England? Eastern Canada still exists. Lot of Northern Africa. Even Northern Australia? Who knows how many Pacific Islands.”
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